


Pull Me Closer (by the hair if you like)

by abrandnewheart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Hair-pulling, Locker Room, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, it’s their first time together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewheart/pseuds/abrandnewheart
Summary: Kiyoomi’s body moves on autopilot. Long, pale fingers tangle themselves in short blonde locks, and Kiyoomi tugs. He doesn’t need to give the order to “Be quiet,” because Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat and he goes silent by himself—but the words are already out before Kiyoomi realises.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 404





	Pull Me Closer (by the hair if you like)

Kiyoomi isn’t really sure what possesses him the first time he lays his hand on Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu has been running his mouth, and talking shit to anyone who might listen—and he keeps going even when they aren’t paying attention—and he just won’t _shut up_ to let anyone get a word in, not even when they’re all practically begging him with their eyes to be quiet for one whole second.

Kiyoomi’s body moves on autopilot. Long, pale fingers tangle themselves in short blonde locks, and Kiyoomi tugs. He doesn’t need to give the order to “Be quiet,” because Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat and he goes silent by himself—but the words are already out before Kiyoomi realises.

Kiyoomi lets his hand fall away. Atsumu looks up at him with eyes which are big and round like he’s done something simultaneously terrible and wonderful. Atsumu doesn’t look away, even as their teammates stare. 

It’s Kiyoomi who breaks first as Bokuto fills the awkward silence with a hearty laugh and a slap to his thigh. Kiyoomi looks away. He does not look back at Atsumu for the rest of the afternoon.

When Kiyoomi goes home, he does his best not to think about the way Atsumu had stared, almost with wonder, almost with _want._ He does his best not to indulge in the idea of doing it again just to have some semblance of control over someone who is so fundamentally chaotic. 

Kiyoomi definitely doesn’t mean to do it again. Honestly he doesn’t, and he could have spent the rest of his life quite happily avoiding getting his hands caught in surprisingly soft blond strands ever again. But sometimes there is just no _reasoning_ with Atsumu, and the fastest way to get him to shut the fuck up and get out of his own head is to give him something else to think about. And that’s exactly what he needs right now, because he’s making that face like he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and he doesn’t want to do it—it’s a face he only makes when he doesn’t think anybody else can see him. 

Except, Kiyoomi is here and Kiyoomi sees him. Kiyoomi’s the only one who can, because they’re the only two left in the locker room after practice, and Atsumu knows he’s there. Kiyoomi spends ten seconds wondering if Atsumu is okay with showing vulnerability so plainly here because he trusts Kiyoomi, or if it’s because he thinks Kiyoomi barely counts as an ‘anybody’.

Regardless of the reason, a sharp, immature pull on Atsumu’s hair, a withering look and a, “Snap out of it,” is enough to pull him out of whatever he’s thinking about. 

What Kiyoomi doesn’t expect is the weak little noise that falls from Atsumu’s mouth. He expected a yelp, or a shout, or maybe to be pushed or kicked away. Not this. Not a noise like he was _into_ it, halfway between a moan and a whimper. 

Kiyoomi drops the fistful of hair even as Atsumu looks up at him with big, wide eyes. It is Kiyoomi who has the good grace to go pink in the cheeks—even though it isn’t him who’s just embarrassed himself—and end the interaction by rushing out of the locker room. 

If that noise is one Kiyoomi commits to memory, and if it’s one that features every time Kiyoomi gets himself off in the shower over the next few weeks—nobody needs to know. 

Kiyoomi knows he shouldn't find himself being weirdly into the whole thing, and he shouldn’t want to do it again; shouldn’t want to see if he can make Atsumu make that noise again.

He knows it, and yet here he is three weeks after the first incident, once again standing in the locker room, facing Atsumu, and with a handful of hair in his grip. His hold is just enough to pull each hair taut, not enough to hurt. Probably.

Atsumu gives Kiyoomi a look that is simultaneously a challenge and a question.

Kiyoomi tugs. The flick of his wrist has a moan slipping from Atsumu's mouth and Kiyoomi thinks _that_ is very interesting indeed. So he tugs again, harder this time. 

"Omi," is what Atsumu gasps but what Kiyoomi hears is a thousand tiny _please_ s.

Kiyoomi considers what's in front of him. 

Atsumu is rapidly going red in the face. He has one hand raised like he might try and disentangle Kiyoomi's hand from his hair. The other he has held up, palm and fingers stretched out in front of him, like it might block Kiyoomi from seeing him coming undone all from just a little _tug_ of his hair. 

Atsumu squirms, and Kiyoomi can't tell if he's genuinely uncomfortable or if the squirming is pulling the ends of his hair in _just_ the right way.

"Stop moving." Kiyoomi says, except it’s an order, and he watches Atsumu's pupils blow wide as he stills.

"Sorry," the word falls from Atsumu's mouth and Kiyoomi can only stare at him when it does. Since when does Atsumu Miya apologise? Since when is he _willingly_ _quiet_?

Kiyoomi shifts his hand, gathers up more hair from the very top of Atsumu's head and pulls, snapping his wrist into the action.

Atsumu doesn't make a noise, this time, biting down on his lower lip to keep it in. Now, that simply wouldn't do, and so Sakusa tugs again. Harder. 

A pathetic, shaky moan leaves Atsumu's mouth again, and cracks, only to whimper, "What are ya _doing_ this to me for?"

Kiyoomi considers the question. Why is he doing this? Why indeed? He considers it for long enough that he lets his hand drop from Atsumu’s hair. 

Except Atsumu makes a noise like he's pained at the loss, and he scrambles to grab Kiyoomi's hand before it falls entirely, catching it between both of his own. He makes a move like he might put it back in his hair just like he likes it, but he catches himself halfway to doing it—and instead just cradles Kiyoomi's hand for a while, looking at it almost like it’s something precious. 

"I can explain," Atsumu offers, unprompted, red in the cheeks once again like he's been caught doing something he's not supposed to. 

"You get off on having your hair pulled." It had been obvious. Kiyoomi may have discovered it by accident, but getting to now witness live reactions to actions and movements which were intentional and untempered by the presence of other people was something entirely new. 

"I - yeah. I guess." 

"And you like it when I do it." It’s not a question.

Atsumu looks like he's doing his best not to answer, refusing to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes, but Kiyoomi reaches up with his free hand and gives the tiniest tug to a tendril of hair belonging to Atsumu's fringe.

"Answer me," he orders, though he knows he doesn't need to, not when he can hear the whine that slips out of Atsumu's mouth. Not when he can _see_ that Atsumu is getting hard underneath his track pants. 

"I like it," Atsumu breathes, and his eyes flutter closed as Kiyoomi runs his fingers far more gently through Atsumu's hair. 

Kiyoomi considers his options as he scratches Atsumu’s scalp. 

He could play this whole thing off as a bad joke and leave. Things might be awkward for a while if he did that, but he's sure Atsumu is no stranger to awkward encounters, with teammates or otherwise. 

He could push on and see where this leads. Atsumu is pliant now. Able to be instructed, able to be nudged in the right direction without any backtalk or shitty comments. 

Kiyoomi's leaning towards the second option, but the choice is removed entirely when Atsumu pushes him. The back of Kiyoomi’s knees hit a bench, and so he sits. Atsumu falls to his knees, shuffling his way into the space between Kiyoomi’s thighs, 

He looks so pretty, perched there.

Atsumu rests his head on Kiyoomi's thigh, looking up at him with those same big, wide eyes, through eyelashes that are longer than they have any right to be. 

Kiyoomi had always thought Atsumu was attractive, even back then when they were 17, and that hasn’t gone away even though now he’s definitely not supposed to—because there are _rules_ about ‘liaising’ with team members, and Kiyoomi hasn’t trusted himself not to give in—but this? This, with Atsumu looking up like he wants to be there, like he can’t wait to get a hand or a mouth wherever Kiyoomi might let him...

Who could blame Kiyoomi if he was hard and leaking already? 

He fans his fingers out to trail through blond locks again, and Atsumu's eyes flutter closed. 

"Want me to suck ya off?"

It’s quiet to the point that Kiyoomi isn't sure he’s heard it properly, and he stills his hand. Atsumu rolls his head back, like he needs his head patted even if he has to work for it. A few seconds pass before he more or less repeats himself. "I'm gonna suck ya off."

"Oh—"

Before Kiyoomi can even respond properly, Atsumu's hands are at his waist, tugging impatiently at layers of fabric. Kiyoomi lifts his hips just enough that everything can be wiggled free and suddenly, everything feels much, much more real. This is not just a fun, experimental game.

Now, Kiyoomi isn't _completely_ inexperienced. He's had sex. He's been sucked off. He's done the same for other people. 

But never has anyone looked at him with quite the intensity that Atsumu is, and never, he thinks, has he wanted it so badly.

His fingers tighten in Atsumu's hair and he barely recognises his own voice as he says, "Get on with it then," and pulls Atsumu forward. 

To his credit, getting on with it is exactly what Atsumu does: he swallows down as much of Kiyoomi's cock as he can take in one go. 

Kiyoomi makes a noise deep in the back of his throat, low and husky. Atsumu’s mouth is warm and soft—pliant—and it has been so _long_ since Kiyoomi's had anything other than a lubed-up hand. He makes another noise that sounds like all the air has left his lungs entirely, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. He gasps to fill his lungs, and Atsumu peers up at him, up from under those _fucking_ eyelashes—

Kiyoomi rolls his hips, tentative, wary in the back of his mind that maybe Atsumu can't take any more yet; except he does. He does, and suddenly the entirety of Kiyoomi's cock is in Atsumu's mouth and Atsumu closes his eyes but he doesn’t fucking flinch.

Maybe running his mouth is good practice for blowjobs. Atsumu's tongue, when put to use like this, is far more satisfying than what he usually does with it. 

Kiyoomi hasn't let go of Atsumu's hair, and maybe it’s a risky move. But risky moves are what got him here in the first place. 

He tugs, hard, and Atsumu reels back just a little, looking up with big wide eyes and saliva-slash-precome running down his chin. He settles back forward again, and he lets Kiyoomi’s cock press against his cheek, lets Kiyoomi get him dirty and sticky with precome. Atsumu turns his head to greet Kiyoomi’s cock, and he licks along the length before sucking on the head. 

Kiyoomi watches him intently. He watches the way Atsumu’s throat bobs as he swallows down precome, and a small little voice in the back of his head wonders if Atsumu might do the same later. He feels his cock twitch, and he watches the tiny look of surprise Atsumu makes with his eyebrows. Fuck, Atsumu is hot.

Kiyoomi is close already, and he heaves a shaky sigh. 

He watches Atsumu shove his tracksuit pants down, just enough to free his cock, hard and dripping. He watches as Atsumu cups himself. He watches as Atsumu tugs on his own length, and then says, "I don't think I told you that you could touch yourself."

It's accompanied by another sharp tug on Atsumu’s hair, and Atsumu falls forward. He barely catches himself to keep himself upright; he ends up with his nose pressed up against Kiyoomi abs and Kiyoomi’s entire cock shoved deep. 

Atsumu is pretty like this.

He takes being pushed around well. He's back to bobbing his head easily, back to doing absolutely obscene things with his tongue in no time, swallowing around Kiyoomi's cock like it's no bother at all. Atsumu’s hands trail long stripes on Kiyoomi's thighs, and his thumbs press in just enough against the pale expanse of muscle and skin to keep him upright, even as Kiyoomi pulls him down to take more, more, _more._

Kiyoomi can feel it building. There's a familiar and yet not sensation running through every vein, every nerve, every fibre of his being. Kiyoomi knows how to get himself off when he’s alone but it’s not like this. Never like this. A perfunctory jerking off session could never compare to this. 

This, where Atsumu's mouth is tight and hot and wet and he's doing things with his tongue that Kiyoomi doesn't think he knows how to name, where he’s taking it all so deep, so well, so _good_ for Kiyoomi, where he’s letting spit and precome run all over his face and he doesn’t even make a move to wipe it away—

Kiyoomi thrusts his hips forward without a care. He tugs Atsumu's hair so that he's forced to meet him halfway with every sharp jerk of his hips.

He's close. He’s so fucking close.

Words are hard. Kiyoomi gasps, "Tsumu." 

Atsumu looks up at him. Kiyoomi thinks his eyes look wet, almost like he’s struggling to take it all and—

He topples over the edge. 

It catches Kiyoomi by surprise, and the, "Oh, fuck," he huffs out definitely shows it. 

Atsumu takes it like a champ. Not a drop of come leaves his mouth, and he suckles on the head of Kiyoomi’s cock just a little longer. It’s like he’s trying to make sure Kiyoomi is nice and clean despite the absolute mess he's made of Atsumu.

"Fuck," Kiyoomi breathes, and he relinquishes his hold on Atsumu's hair to card his fingers through much more gently. He scratches Atsumu's scalp, and Atsumu makes a self-satisfied little noise. 

He rests his head on Kiyoomi's thigh again, looking up like there's something he wants to say, or maybe like he's asking for permission. But permission for what? Kiyoomi can’t tell.

"You. You are so good. Good boy." Kiyoomi's brain may be nearly too fried to think, but he's not completely gone. 

Kiyoomi had always thought Atsumu was most beautiful when he was caught off guard. He is right, once again, because the compliment clearly has Atsumu reeling and he comes all over himself and the floor without having to touch himself.

Kiyoomi eyes the splatters of come on Atsumu’s fingers. Atsumu goes to wipe them off on his shirt—but Kiyoomi catches his wrist, lifts his hand and takes three fingers into his mouth and sucks the come off instead. 

Fair's fair, after all. Atsumu had spent so much time sucking Kiyoomi clean that he really ought to return the favour. 

Atsumu's hand falls to rest on Kiyoomi's thigh. His eyes are closed; he could almost be sleeping, using Kiyoomi's other thigh as a pillow. 

"You good?" Kiyoomi's voice is hoarse. 

"Mhm," Atsumu is quiet, but he opens his eyes and looks up again with an expression that Kiyoomi can't name. He could almost convince himself it was adoration, or fondness, or _love._

But Kiyoomi isnt fooling himself. 

Not yet, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I’ve published explicit content. Please be gentle.


End file.
